Cold Case at Cobra Creek (12 page)

“Was that when your grandfather killed himself?”

A tense minute passed. Then Dugan thought he heard a sniffle.

“D.J.?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I...probably ought not to be callin’. My dad is gonna be real mad.”

But still the kid had called. “D.J., you called because you thought it was the right thing to do. Now, tell me what’s on your mind.”

Another sniffle. “I don’t think Grandpa killed himself.”

* * *

S
AGE SLOWLY ROUSED
back to consciousness. The room was dark, and she couldn’t breathe. The musty odor of sweat and another smell...cigarette smoke? A cigar? Shoe polish?

Dizzy and disoriented, she rolled to her side and searched the room.

What had happened?

She gasped, her hand automatically going to her throat and rubbing her tender skin as the memory of the intruder surfaced. The man...big...heavy...on top of her, holding her down. Strangling her...

Those threatening words. “Lewis is dead. If you don’t stop asking questions, you’ll be next.”

God... Was he still in the inn?

She froze, listening for his voice. His breathing?

But only the sound of the furnace rumbling echoed back.

The wind rattling the panes had woken her. He must have broken a window downstairs and snuck in.

Trembling, she slid from bed, grabbed the phone and punched Dugan’s number. She hurried to look out the window, searching for her attacker outside, but clouds obscured the moon, painting the backyard a dismal gray.

The phone rang a second time as she hurried to her bedroom door and peered into the hallway. Downstairs seemed quiet, but what if he was still in the house?

The phone clicked. “Sage?”

“Dugan, someone broke into the inn. He...threatened me.”

“Is he still there?”

“I don’t think so,” Sage said.

“Where are you?”

“In my bedroom.”

“Lock yourself inside and don’t come out. I’ll call you when I arrive.”

Sage stepped back inside the room, closed the door and locked it. She flipped on the light, then looked into the mirror above her vanity. Her hair looked wild, her eyes puffy, the imprint of a man’s fingers embedded into her neck.

She tried to recall the details of her attack. How big her attacker was, how tall... Had she felt his beard stubble against her cheek when he’d whispered that threat in her ear?

Fear clouded her memory, but she heard his voice playing over and over in her head. A gruff, deep voice. Definitely male.

But who was he?

* * *

D
UGAN SPED FROM
his ranch toward Cobra Creek, his heart hammering. Sage had sounded shaken, but she was all right.

Unless the intruder was still there....

His tires squealed as he swerved down Main Street, then hung a right into the drive for the B and B. The drive was empty, but he spotted Sage’s car in the detached garage. He scanned the street and property, searching for someone lurking around.

A dog roamed the street but took off running when his headlights startled him. A trash can lid rolled across the neighboring drive, clanging. Down the street, a truck rumbled, heading out of town.

Could it be the intruder’s?

He hesitated, considered following it, but what if Sage’s attacker was still in the house?

He flipped off his lights, parked and cut the engine. Pulling his weapon from the holster inside his jacket, he texted Sage that he was outside. Then he slowly approached the inn.

The front door was locked, and no one was around, so he eased his way to the fence, unlatched the gate and stepped inside, scanning the property. At least two miles of wooded land backed up to the creek. A walking trail wove through the woods, and park benches were situated by the water for guests to lounge and relax.

Sage didn’t have enough land for horseback riding, but a ranch close by catered to guests craving the western experience. That ranch belonged to Helen Wiley, a middle-aged woman who loved kids and families and offered riding lessons to locals and tourists.

The silhouette of an animal combing the woods caught his eye, and he stepped nearer the woods to check it out. Deciding it was a deer, he turned and glanced at the back of the inn.

A rustic deck spanned the entire back side, with seating areas for guests to relax and enjoy the scenery. The deck was empty now, although one of the windows was open, a curtain flapping in the wind.

The intruder must have broken in through the window.

He kept his gun trained as he climbed the steps to the deck, then he checked the open window. The glass was broken. He’d come back and look for prints.

Right now he wanted to see Sage, make sure she was safe.

His phone buzzed with a text, and he glanced at it. Sage wanted to know where he was.

He texted,
Back door.

He turned the doorknob and it opened easily. The intruder had obviously snuck in through the window but exited the back door, leaving it unlocked.

Didn’t Sage have a damn alarm?

He inched inside the kitchen, tensing at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Keeping his gun braced at the ready, he crept through the kitchen to the hallway and waited.

Seconds later, Sage came running down the stairs. Pale and terrified, she threw herself into his arms.

* * *

S
AGE HAD BEEN
alone with her grief and fears and the terrifying questions in her head for so long that she couldn’t drag herself away from Dugan.

How long had it been since someone had held her? Taken care of her?

Two years...but any affection Ron had had for her had been an act.

Dugan stroked her back, soothing her. “It’s okay now, Sage.”

She nodded against him, but she couldn’t stop trembling. “He choked me until I passed out.”

His big body went so still that she felt the anxiety coiled in his muscles. “God, Sage.”

He pulled away just enough to tilt her face up so he could examine her. Rage darkened his eyes when he spotted the bruises.

“Did you get a look at him?” Dugan asked, his voice low. Lethal.

She shook her head, her heart fluttering with awareness as he traced a finger along her throat. “It was too dark. And he threw me facedown on the bed and shoved my head into the pillows.”

“What else do you remember?”

“He smelled like sweat and something else—maybe cigarette smoke? He said Lewis was dead and that if I didn’t stop asking questions, I’d be next.”

“Damn,” Dugan muttered.

Her gaze locked with his, the fierceness of a warrior in his eyes. Eyes the color of a Texas sunset.

Eyes full of dark emotion—anger, bitterness, maybe distrust.

And hunger. Hunger followed by a wariness that made her realize that he felt the sexual chemistry between them just as she did.

“Stay here. Let me search the rest of the inn.”

She nodded and hugged the wall as he inched up the stairs to the second floor. His footsteps pounded above her as he moved from room to room. Seconds stretched into minutes, a moment of silence making her catch her breath in fear that her attacker had been hiding in one of the other rooms to ambush Dugan.

Finally, he appeared at the top of the staircase. “It’s clear.” He tucked his gun back into his holster and strode down the steps.

Sage’s heart was beating so frantically that she reached for him.

Emotions clogged her throat as he tilted her chin up again.

But this time instead of examining her bruises, he closed his mouth over hers.

Sage gave in to the moment and savored the feel of his passion. She parted her lips in invitation, relishing the way he played his tongue along her mouth and growled low in his throat.

Hunger emanated from him, in the way his hands stroked her back, and the way his body hardened and melded against hers.

A warmth spread through her, sparking arousal and titillating sensations, earth-shattering in their intensity. Dugan splayed his hands over her hips, drawing her closer, and she felt his thick erection press into her belly.

She wanted him.

Wanted to forget all the sadness and grief that had consumed her the past two years. Wanted to feel pleasure for a few brief moments before reality yanked her back to the ugly truth.

That her son was still missing.

Those very words made her pull away. What was wrong with her? Was she so weak that she’d fall into any man’s arms?

She certainly had made that mistake with Ron.

She looked into Dugan’s eyes and saw the same restless hunger that she felt. She also saw his turmoil.

He hadn’t expected her to react like that to him.

It couldn’t happen again.

* * *

D
UGAN CURSED HIMSELF
for his weakness. But one look into Sage’s vulnerable eyes and he couldn’t not kiss her.

Pain radiated from her in waves. For the first time, he’d forgotten about his resolve to keep his hands off her. She’d needed him.

And he’d needed to hold her and know that that bastard who’d tried to choke her hadn’t succeeded.

Why had her attacker let her live? Did he really think he’d scare her so badly she’d stop looking for her son?

Chapter Twelve

Dugan adopted his professional mask, relieved she’d donned a robe over her long pajamas before he’d arrived. If he’d seen a sliver of her delicate skin, he might lose control, change his mind and take her to bed. “I’ll check your room for prints.”

“He wore gloves,” Sage said. “Leather.”

“Figures. Still, I’ll look around in case he dropped something or left a stray hair.”

She led the way, and he spent the next half hour searching her room. When he spotted the bed where she’d been sleeping when she was attacked, images of the man shoving her facedown assaulted him.

He was going to catch this jerk and made him suffer.

Sage excused herself to go to the bathroom while he searched the room. Grateful for the reprieve, he forced his mind on the task and checked the sheets. He ran his hands over the bedding but found nothing, so he stooped down to the floor and shone a small flashlight across the braided rug.

A piece of leather caught his attention. A strip, like part of a tassel to a boot or glove or jacket. Sage had said her attacker had worn gloves.

Hoping to find forensic evidence on it, he dragged on gloves and picked it up.

Sage emerged from the bathroom, her hair brushed, her robe cinched tight. “Did you find anything?”

He dangled the leather strip in front of her. “Do you recognize this?”

Sage shook her head no. “It’s not mine.”

“You struggled with the man?”

She shivered. “Yes.”

“I’ll bag this and send it to the lab.” He strode toward the door. “Go back to bed, Sage. I’ll stay downstairs and keep watch.”

“I don’t think I can sleep,” Sage said, her voice as forlorn as the expression on her face.

Hell, he knew he wouldn’t sleep. Not while worrying about Sage’s attacker returning to make good on that threat.

And not while thinking about that damn kiss.

“Then just rest. I’m going to find something to fix that broken window.”

She tugged at the top of her robe, pulling it together. “There’s some plywood in the garage.”

“That’ll work.” He forced his gaze away from her. “You need a security system.”

“That’s hard to do with guests.”

“You can arrange a key system.”

“Won’t that be expensive?”

“It’ll be worth it for you and your guests.”

“I’ll look into it,” Sage agreed.

He turned to go down to the garage.

“Thank you for coming tonight, Dugan.”

He paused, shoulders squared. “I’m going to catch this bastard and find Benji.”

The soft whisper of her breath echoed between them. “I know you will.”

Her confidence sent a warmth through him. Other than Jaxon, he’d never had anyone believe in him.

Especially a woman.

He didn’t want to disappoint her.

Shaken by the thought, he rushed outside to the garage, found a toolbox and some plywood in the corner.

It took him less than ten minutes to cover the broken glass. When he’d finished, he walked around the other rooms, checking locks and windows and looking for other evidence the intruder might have left behind.

Then he made a pot of coffee and kept watch over the house until morning. But Sage’s Christmas tree haunted him as the first strains of sunlight poured through the window.

More than anything, he wanted to bring Benji back to Sage for Christmas.

* * *

S
AGE DIDN’T THINK
she would sleep, but exhaustion, stress and worry had taken their toll, and she drifted off. She dreamed about Benji and the holidays and the attack. She felt the man’s fingers closing around her neck, his knee jamming into her back, his weight on her. She was suffocating, couldn’t breathe...

She jerked awake, disoriented for a moment. She scanned the room, searching the corners as reality returned. She was safe. The intruder was gone.

Knowing Dugan was downstairs watching out for her, she closed her eyes again. This time after she drifted off, she dreamed that Dugan was in bed with her, kissing her, stripping her clothes, making love to her...

When she stirred from sleep, her body felt achy and languid, content yet yearning for something more. More of Dugan’s touches.

But sleeping with him would be a mistake. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could crawl in bed with a man and walk away. She was too old-fashioned. Making love meant more to her than just a warm body.

Still, she craved his arms and hands on her.

Frustrated, she jumped in the shower. One blast of the cold water and she woke to reality. She adjusted the nozzle to warm and washed her hair, letting the soothing spray of water pulse against her skin until she felt calmer.

Finally she dried off, dressed and hurried down the stairs. Dugan had cooked eggs and bacon, and poured her a cup of coffee as soon as she entered. With remnants of the dream still playing through her head, the scene seemed cozy. Intimate.

What in the world was she thinking?